Dress to impress.. it's not a crime

BY the time this column is printed I will – hopefully – be sunning myself in the south of France on a rare trip abroad, and even rarer, without my husband or children.

An old school friend is getting married in August, and such is the joy created by this event that five of us are flying out to France to celebrate – at the home of another old pal who had the common sense to ship out to the sunnier climes of Toulouse a few years ago.

So you'd imagine that all any of us would be thinking about is putting our feet up and lounging by a pool with a chilled glass of rosé.

Well no. It seems that going on holiday with old friends throws up a whole host of unexpected horrors.

Given that none of us has probably seen each other in a swimsuit since we were 15 and Warrender Baths or the Commie Pool were favoured hangouts, the very notion that post-children (seven between us), we'll be exposing bits that normally never see the light of day has us all seized by a blind panic.

Which of us won't have cellulite or stretch marks? Whose stomach will be flattest (at least lying down)? And what about droopy boobs? To come off worst is all too horrible to contemplate.

As a result waxing, pedicures, hairdresser appointments, self-tanning – they've been on all of our to-do lists. There have even been e-mails flying round on what clothing is being taken, as if we are teenagers again, and wearing the wrong shade of Benetton jumper could make you a social outcast.

The very fact that two have admitted they'll brazenly be wearing bikinis has already raised the stakes. Personally I'll be in the magic one-piece which sucks in, flattens and squeezes, although quite where the excess flesh is supposed to go I've not yet discovered. Either my earlobes or my feet will look larger than normal.

Just what we're hoping to prove – and to whom – I have no idea. That we can still look as good as we did as teenagers now we're 30-somethings with careers and families? I like to think we all look a damned sight better than we did back then, when ankle socks and snoods were the order of the day. Is it, then, that we're concerned that the sight of veiny legs and muffin tops will ruin our friendship of 20-odd years?

It really does seem odd to behave in this fashion – and it's not the sort of unseemly conduct in which men would indulge.

But in the week that the death of Yves Saint Laurent – the man who gave women the right to fret about why they don't look good in a jumpsuit – is being mourned by the world of fashion, it strikes me that women actually love this kind of competitively masochistic behaviour.

I don't think it's about low self-esteem, rather having enough self-esteem to want to be able to look as good as possible, especially when next to friends who're also making an effort to do the same.

TV and radio presenter Mariella Frostrup may rail against it, saying that women shouldn't look good for either men or other women but for themselves, and wishes "we'd be more impressed at a woman who has achieved something in her career", but while she's right, she's also missing the point.

As well as being proud of our careers – or the way we've brought up our children – women want to be able to show that they can defy the signs of ageing, however slightly; to defy their bodies' desire to slowly turn to jelly; to defy anyone to guess how many children they've had with their toned stomachs.

Who is going to appreciate the hard work all that involves if not the men in their lives and their friends?

Just look at the frenzy surrounding the launch of the Sex And The City movie – a story which was always about women's love affair with themselves and with each other. If women didn't have anyone to try to impress, we'd all be wandering around like Waynetta Slob – although even she did something for Wayne.

So here's to looking as good as possible for yourself and for others, and to long-lasting friendships – cellulite and all.

My only real worry now is that after one too many wines we will resort to our 15-year-old-selves, fall out over some small slight and end up sitting in our bedrooms in a huff.

Hurry up, Murray!
CAN'T wait to see the detailed plans by David Murray's company Premier Property Group of how it will improve the A8 corridor if he gets the go-ahead to build 200 new homes next to Ratho Station.

At the moment, trying to go west to Newbridge by car at rush hour is a disaster, with queues from the roundabout back to Ingliston.

The idea that 200 more cars might join in that jam could just tip some drivers over the edge. Perhaps he'll cough up enough and extend the tram line in return for building on green belt land.

Healthy option
THE campaign to keep Edinburgh Leisure crèches open surges ahead, and in a brilliant piece of lateral thinking, talks are going to take place with NHS Lothian to persuade it to subsidise the facilities.

The National Health Service is not a childcare organisation (but neither is Edinburgh Leisure, according to Councillor Steve Cardownie).

But there can be no doubt that the health, both physical and mental, of the region's women is in the long-term interest of its Lothian arm. Here's hoping the board sees it that way.